You
by phlesh
Summary: Chloe is lost without Beca. TW for brief mentions of self harm, attempted sexual assault, gruesome imagery. Please read the authors note at the start of the story.


**Halloween is coming, so hello spooky season! I hope this is unsettling for everyone. Not at all meant to be insensitive to mental illness, PLEASE if anyone is offended let me know and I will pull it right away. Initially, it was my plan to make Chloe a stalker, but as I gardened this I thought this would be a much more shocking twist. This is not an accurate portrayal of mental illness. I used (and spoke with) my gf about her psychosis and dissociation to try to understand better. Mental health is not horror. But to those with it, it is real, and it can be terrifying.**

**With that being said, I hope you find this interesting, fulfilling of your Halloween wishes, and maybe even thought provoking. My inbox is always open.  
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Do you ever feel as if you aren't entirely there? 

Like, maybe you're in a dream.

Maybe it's all been a dream. Maybe our dreams spiral down and down and down and sideways and up and they twist with each other, and maybe it's my dream, but maybe it's yours, but we're here together now and it's been so long that we have long since forgotten that we're asleep.

I'd like it if we were dreaming together.

Even after all this time, far away, I think about you when I wait for the train. I watch the colours, and the people, and I hear both voices and laughter and I wonder… If I'm even really there. I think about you on my walk home, I watch my boots crush the grass, or the autumn leaves, or the snow, and my mind wanders to you- tries to find you. I think about you at work, I put paper through the shredder and punch holes in corners… I think about you when I lay in bed at night, and I look at the stars and make my own constellations.

I'd very much like to see you again.

I even thought about you today, in my kitchen, I was watering my plants- they keep dying- and I saw a tiny ladybug crawling across one of the leaves. I watched it for a while. My whole world is foggy. Oftentimes, I float outside of my body.

I take my medication and look at my reflection in the mirror and think of you- not even my own reflection is safe. I'm not sure who she is. Who she's ever been. I pulled at my skin; I pinched my cheeks between my thumb and my forefinger and pulled, I put my fingers in my mouth and stretched the skin away from my gums. Looked at the bones in my mouth. How strange is it that we have small bones in our mouth?

I'll be entirely honest, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and dipped the tip into my skin, just a little bit. Just enough. Until I saw a small bead of blood appear, like a red balloon inflating out of my skin, and then I pulled away. I'm not bad. I stared at it, and touched it. But I'm still not entirely convinced about anything.

This world is boring and empty without you here.

The other day, I was walking down Sixth; there were lots of pigeons, picking at the crumbs on the ground. I wished I had some crackers. A man bumped into me.

"Don't stand in the middle of the fucking crosswalk!" He yelled at me. It startled me. I looked and I looked but I don't know if he was real. He looked back at me with contempt. But I think he was flat. Somewhere, buried deep in me, I could feel upset; there was a tightness in my chest that I didn't like. He was ruining my dream. So as he turned away, I reached out, and I pushed him.

"What the fuck!" He spun back around at me, his face was red- like a tomato- and suddenly he was very frightening to me. His face wasn't right. It was… twisted.

"Hey, hey," Said another girl- she was kinder looking- she was smoking a cigarette and had a hat on, and with a gentle hand she reached out for me and stepped in front of the man. She lowered her head a little bit so that I could look into her eyes. She had smudged eye makeup. "Don't worry about him, yeah? Just another New York jerk. And as for you-" She looked away from me, but kept her hand pressed against my shoulder. She reminded me of you.

There's so much I want to tell you about.

I think the new boy at work tried to become my friend. I was shredding paper, and he came up to me, and told me I looked very nice. I laughed. I laughed through the wool cotton in my ears, and he blushed. I can't remember his face now, even though I see him so often. Isn't that funny? He asked me if I wanted to get sushi with him sometime. I told him no, I don't eat things with eyes. So he said, "How about coffee?" I told him there's coffee in the break room. He walked away after that.

I don't know why I'm so bad at making friends.

Maybe because no one is you.

I see my therapist often. Two times a week. I think she is the closest thing to my friend, but she doesn't really understand what it's like. Sitting in her office feels like everything is made of Lego. She always asks me the same questions; how's work, how's your medication, are you having any negative thoughts?

I usually tell her the same things. Work is okay. Medication is okay. No, I'm not having negative thoughts. I only tell her the last one because sometimes I feel like I'm having no thoughts at all. I am being controlled, I am on autopilot, I am waiting for you.

She doesn't like to hear about you.

So I don't tell her how often you're on my mind.

I tell her I am lonely instead. And that's partially true… I am lonely without you, but sometimes I feel like the thought of you keeps me company just fine. I'm not allowed pets in my apartment, so I got a fish. I liked to watch his pretty blue scales… but he died when I forgot to feed him. That made me very sad, in a very quiet way. I flushed him down the toilet and watched him go. Goodbye, fish. You're gone from my dream now. I'm sorry.

I guess why I'm writing to you, however, is because I feel afraid now. I remember you used to tell me to do bad things- I know you didn't mean them- but… I don't know what to do now. It's starting to stink.

Two nights ago I was sleeping when I heard one of my plants fall over in my kitchen. For one long second, I hoped maybe that it was you. But you're gone very far away, so I knew it couldn't be. I leaned over and turned on my lamp.

It was the boy from my work, he was standing in my doorway. This was very strange- he wasn't supposed to be here, this is not where he should show up. He ran at me. It startled me, but I couldn't move, I just watched him run at me until he was right in front of my face. I felt the tightness in my chest again. The sadness. He put his hand over my mouth and pushed me down, this time he was laughing at me.

"God, that was easy." He said. "You didn't even scream. I'm going to make you scream." He was hurting me, I tried to hit him. "Cry for help," And I realized in his other hand he had one of my kitchen knives, and he held it up to my neck, "And I'll kill you."

I knew what he was doing.

He was ruining my dream.

He started to undo his pants; I just watched, I watched him drop them down near his ankles and saw the sad little tent in his underwear. Suddenly it was very hard not to laugh. I turned my attention instead to the knife watched it gleam in the lamplight, didn't take my eyes off of it as he lowered himself on top of me. He said something else then, but I can't really remember. I just laid back. He stroked my hair, and started to kiss my neck. The knife was still next to my head, safely planted under his palm.

"I would've liked coffee," I said, carefully placing one of my hands against his chest. "It would have been nice to have a friend."

He pulled back, and I looked at him now; the confused furrow of his brow, and I wanted to touch his face. How sad was his dream? How sad had I made it? Or, if this was all my dream, what had I done to make it turn so sour?

He flinched, and slapped my hand away. He was shaking, but he pointed the knife at me again. "Do not-" He started, before he curled his lip in a distasteful way and set the knife down next to me; quickly, he used both hands to turn me around. But he wasn't fast enough. I grabbed the knife and he cried out, pressing his hand against mine and trying to pry it out of my fingers. "I'll kill you!" He said, "I'll fucking kill you!"

I thought about you. You told me to do these bad things before. Were you trying to protect me all along? He was trying to end my dream. Were the others, the ones you told me to kill, were they also trying to end my dream and I just didn't see?

So I didn't let go. He pulled my hair but I kicked out and I felt my foot connect with his groin and he fell back in pain, groaning. It was easy, actually.

And then I turned around and I made the knife disappear. Low in his stomach. And he spluttered, eyes wide with fear. I recognized it. I looked right into them as I did it. "Please don't kill me," Was the next thing he said. I blinked at him. I thought about you. I knew you would remind me that he was trying to end my dream. He would never not try to end my dream.

So I pulled the knife out, and I did it again. He cried out. I knew he couldn't do that. So I did it again, in the throat.

It wasn't like a red balloon.

It was just… everywhere. It was messy. His hands tried to grasp at his neck. It was disturbing, like the time I tried to kill the spider but missed, and only ripped some of its legs off. I watched it writhe in pain, and I didn't like it, so I stomped it again with my shoe.

So I stabbed him again.

And again.

And a few more times, until he stopped moving.

And then I had a shower.

I know its bad. But I was too scared at first. I think I need to tell my therapist today. You never told me what to do after it was over. I look at him now, and I resent him. He is dead and in my bedroom and entirely a large inconvenience, but that's partially my fault. He is so ugly. It's very upsetting to look at him.

Why did you want this so much?

Though I guess, something bad was happening, and I remembered what you said and it helped me. Maybe this time I can tell the therapist that you, Beca, told me to do something and it was good and then I won't have to take medication anymore so I can see you again! That is exciting just to think about. But I am so nervous you have no idea. I don't want life to ruin my dream.

But I think I've made my decision. I have to tell.

Maybe now we can be together. 


End file.
